


Instruction

by pherede



Series: Livewrites [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherede/pseuds/pherede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin teaches Thranduil how to properly please a dwarf. A smut snippet written for a livewrite prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instruction

Thorin is a king’s grandson, distant enough from the throne that he does not yet consider himself an heir; what he wants, he takes, and he does not stop to consider that there may be consequences for his actions. He is a lad of seventy-two, his beard still soft and nearly too short to braid. He has tasted every pleasure to be had, every rarity and delight, in the halls of Erebor and in the tributes of all the land around: dwarf-lasses eager to test his attraction, heavy-handed warriors who need only the scarcest permission, men of the lake with their perverse ideas, and even the mindless servitude of golden toys, designed to sate his lusts without any thought of reciprocation.  
  
He has not tasted elf-flesh, though now with Thranduil’s eyes flicking over him-- mouth to breast to trousers and back up, slow and deliberate-- he thinks he will try it.  
  
Thranduil is surprisingly easy to convince, and may be summoned; he allows himself to be kissed, standing tall and pale in Thorin’s room, stooping to kneel so that Thorin may reach his mouth, and when Thorin leads him to the bed he goes eagerly enough, as if he too is tasting a strange new thing well beyond his experience.  
  
Thorin finds him innocent of almost all pleasure, knowing only that he likes his cock to be buried in flesh, that Thorin’s great encircling hand is rough and good and worthy of pleading; and Thorin does not fancy the effort of explaining and preparing and slowly, slowly breaching, not when his body is so tight with arousal and his cock so desperate for friction, so he slicks his hand with oil-- of course he, the wild prince of Erebor, has many flavors and scents to choose from, but he selects a neutral oil that will not hide his new lover’s herb-oak fragrance-- and clasps them together, length to length, and rides Thranduil with fury and triumph until he sees shock and astounded pleasure reach a crescendo on the Elvenking’s face.  
  
Thranduil spills over his fingers, gasping as if he has never imagined such pleasure, as if discovering a new dimension of his body; and when he has finished, Thorin guides him to reciprocate, arranging himself upon the bed with a gruff command: “Now suck me.”  
  
Thranduil looks at him, aghast, and Thorin raises an eyebrow. “Your mouth,” he says, “I want it on my cock,” and Thranduil still seems frozen, as if he has never heard of this.  
  
So Thorin guides him, gently but with implacable hands, and instructs him: the teeth to be held away from the skin behind the wrapping guard of lips, the tongue to press and stroke, the cheeks to hollow; plentiful saliva, wanton movement, the use of a hand, the pleasure of a groan around the intrusion. Thranduil learns quickly, and he is dedicated.  
  
Thorin teaches him more, drawing him back before completion: licking and fondling the convolutions of his sack, pressing his face into the juncture of thigh and groin, even-- as Thorin rarely finds someone willing to do-- the pressure of Thranduil’s tongue at his hole, the rough sweet wet writhing motion that makes him groan until he thinks he will come with this alone.  
  
When he is too close, when he knows he must come or die, he winds his fingers in Thranduil’s hair and guides him back to his cock, and because Thranduil does not know what to expect Thorin does not offer him the option of _not_ swallowing, and as Thorin’s body convulses in delight and a crisis of pleasure Thranduil swallows every drop of his seed as if Thorin is spilling gold into his throat, or honey, or the new knowledge of a pleasure Thranduil has never tasted.  
  
After the pangs of orgasm are finished, when his flesh is no longer racked, Thorin smiles at his new lover, and finds him once again hard and flushed with arousal, ready for more. “Show me,” says Thranduil, “use your mouth on me,” and Thorin laughs-- easy and generous, never doubting the endless bounty of his heritage and his youth-- and rolls over to press his mouth to Thranduil’s belly, and to begin a new lesson in the bed-arts of the dwarves.


End file.
